How to Reshape History
by marko37713
Summary: Hiccup wasn't the most popular boy in Berk High School. Being the "runt of the litter" didn't gain him a lot of respect among his peers. But when Hiccup discovers he's related to the greatest viking chief Berk had ever known, he finds himself tangled in a web of problems he didn't even create. And at the heart of those problems? A giant black lizard with a claim on Hiccup's blood.
1. Chapter 1

**Hiiii everyone! Okay, I saw the masterpiece of a movie that is HTTYD2 (cough cough three times cough cough) and this modern!AU idea just popped into my mind. I'm just getting into this fandom, so I haven't really read many of the fics. I also haven't written a fanfic on it before! That being said, I'm sure there are about 23740954869 fics like this one, so I'm truly sorry if what I'm writing looks irritatingly familiar. So… please try to go a little easy on me, 'cause I'm a newbie. Anyway~ **

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor ever will, own "How to Train Your Dragon" and/or the concepts and characters involved. This material has been formally disclaimed and I will not state this again in chapters to follow.**

* * *

_Welcome to Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It's located solidly between Scotland and Greenland, just far enough north to see the Northern Lights but not so far north that you'd lose a hand from frostbite trying opening your car door. My city. In a word? Sturdy. It's been here for sixty-eight generations, and damn near close to every building is new. We have hokey, a lot of folk music, surprisingly fast Internet, and a charming view of the sunset. The only problems are the pests. Well, I call them pests, just because I find them annoying. But trust me, when you've heard the same story over and over and _over _again, you'd get tired of those batshit crazy historians too. _

_No matter what way you spin it; Vikings are old news. They're boring. _

_Well, at least that's what I first thought._

* * *

**_How to Reshape History_**

**_By: marko28_**

* * *

I have no idea how to start this illogical, somewhat twisted, and even outrageous tale that is my life.

I mean, don't get me wrong. My life started out normal… well, I guess that depends on your definition of the word "normal." It's different for everyone.

If you grew up in a family of artists, it might be normal for you to come home to the toxic and dizzying smell of turpenoid and paint thinner. If you grew up on a farm, seeing a cow in your living room when you wake up in the morning is an everyday occurrence. If you live too close to your relatives, you might be faced with close to the exact same normality every day… just don't tell your aunt I said that.

_My _"normal" consisted of waking up late to an empty house, skipping breakfast, missing the bus, and skidding into the doors of Berk High School about ten minutes before school starts.

Then, naturally, getting my entire body shoved into a locker barely half my size because I didn't have time to get the Prince's homework done for him.

Oh, and when I say "Prince," I don't mean the, "bow before the mighty and magnificent future king of Berk, for he is great and good" shit. I mean the "_I'm _the prince of Berk High because _I'm _on the hokey team and _I'm _the best person on the planet", god-complex-type Prince, Scot Lout. Or, as most of the student body may or may not humorously call him behind his back: _Snotlout_.

Of course, being well in the running for Valedictorian next year, _I'm _required to do _all_ his homework for him. And, well, face claustrophobia if I don't.

But at least my normal day took a turn for the better, when I somehow managed to stumble into my history class _on time. _

I took my seat in the front-left of the classroom. If I could sit further back, I would. But in my hurry to leave my house this morning, I didn't get the chance to put in my contacts or grab my glasses.

_C'est la vie, _I thought to myself, _Aveugle et gênant, mais pas moins fier._

The bell rang right then, sending an obnoxious shriek through the air and effectively silencing the other students in the class.

"Righ' then lads," a gruff voice sounded from the front of the classroom. I looked up from the book I had pulled from my bag and drew my eyes to massive mountain of a man in the front of the room. Mr. Gobber actually wasn't very large compared to almost everyone else who lived on the island of Berk. I always assumed the citizens' massive size had something to do with their Viking ancestors.

Mr. Gobber was a vaguely square-shaped man with a long grayish-blond handlebar mustache and a bald head. He was a war veteran, and after fighting in the Berkian-Scottish army, he lost his right arm, his left leg, and several teeth and toes in combat. Gobber always made a show of making ridiculous prosthetics for himself for everyday tasks. He even had a prosthetic that was made to look like a mug as opposed to a hand. Gobber usually used it in front of his students for coffee, but just about anyone knew what it was _really _for.

"T'day, class, we be gettin' inta our next uni'… Norse Mythology." There was a collective groan throughout the classroom. "I kno', I kno', excitin' isn' it? Ye lot can't' walk two fee' withou' 'earing th' word 'Vikin' thrown a' ya. But trus' me when I say tha' ye'll like 'this uni'."

I didn't believe a word he said. Or… tried to say. Gobber had such a thick Scottish accent that it made it hard to understand what he was saying, however no less amusing to try.

Everyone always went on and on about Vikings, about their conquest and their culture. We already knew most everything there is to know about those hairy meatheads.

Mr. Gobber tapped a sausage-shaped finger on his chin, his face contorted in thought. "Ye kno' wha'? I shouldn' be teachin' ya 'dis. They tol' me not' ta', afta' all. No, wai', no, no, I'mma do it' anywa'. Jus' don' tell the othas."

By now we were all thoroughly confused. What wasn't Mr. Gobber supposed to tell us? It was just mythology, right? Nothing we haven't heard before. The great god Odin and his son Thor, the god of lightning, right? Then there was someone named Loki, and I think he had something to do with tricking people. And horses. Maybe.

Yeah, I got this.

"What is it?" Some faceless person asked bluntly from the back of the room. They sounded irritated.

Mr. Gobber's expression turned thoughtful for a moment before he raised his pointer finger and stated, "Well, tis' a legen', really. _Tech'nically_, I wasn' suppos' to say anythin' abou' it', bu' I trus' ye lot won' do anythin' wi'h it'." I arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. Most other students in the class repeated the action.

"Whelp, tis' the legen' of Stoick the Vas'." Mr. Gobber said, crossing his arms and leaning against his desk. Well… he crossed his _arm_. And his… was that an Expo marker attached to a prosthetic? This was new, but certainly not the strangest thing I've ever seen Mr. Gobber wear in place of his arm.

I was so caught up in this new development that I completely missed what Mr. Gobber had said. Until the entire class groaned… everyone at the same time, as loud as they could.

Gobber waved the teenagers off, "Tha' ol' story's not' th' one I'm talkin' abou', lads. Stoick the Vas', as ye all kno' was a…. Fishlegs! Who was Stoick the Vas'? Quick' now, lad!" He pointed to a student in the back of the room. All of us, including me, turned around in our seats to look at today's peer-pressure pop-quiz victim. Poor Fishlegs looked absolutely horrified by the sudden attention.

Okay, technically Fishlegs wasn't his real name, but nobody called him Freddie Ingerman anymore— not after that camping trip he and all the other "popular" kids went on about two years ago. I wasn't invited (I was _sick, _okay? What am I supposed to do, just not be sick? It was on a bad weekend and that's the end of it), but I saw more than enough pictures online. It had something to do with rock climbing, believe it or not, and he's had the nickname ever since.

I looked at him for a second longer before that terrified look disappeared from his face and was replaced with a thick mask of confidence. I rolled my eyes and turned back around in my seat. We weren't really friends. Why should I care?

"Stoick the Vast. He was the chief of Berk in the late eighth century and defended the island from both Roman and other Viking invaders. Other Vikings, being the smaller but more dangerous tribes of the time like the Outcasts and the Hysterics. He never lost a battle—legend has it that he wielded Mjölnir itself. He supposedly killed all sorts of creatures along with invaders, like monsters and dragons and stuff. But _historically, _he saved Berk from Roman rule and he was one of the only people of that time to live past the age of seventy. He ruled until then, and died after a battle with Thor _himself_, but now we know it was old age." Fishlegs finished with a confident, albeit somewhat nervous, smile.

"Good!" Gobber explained. "Now, I'mma goin' ta tel' ye wha' I wasn' _supposed _ta tel' ye." He paused. "All of tha' was wrong."

I blinked and looked up at him. Of course it wasn't wrong. Gobber told us this story himself. We just had a test on Stoick the Vast a few weeks ago. I hate to say that Fishlegs was right, but I took notes. He didn't miss anything… _too, _too major.

Apparently, Fishlegs thought the same thing. I heard a disgruntled "what?" from the back of the room.

"Stoick the Vas' was th' mighties' chief Berk ever did see. 'He was known in 'istory fer fendin' off both Roman and Vikin' invaders, sure, but nobody' ever says anythin' abou' th' dragons!"

The class groaned. Oh, so that's it. Another one of Mr. Gobber's insane stories.

"Oh calm yer undies' you grea' lot o' pansies, 'dis time I'm serious! 'Dis very islan' was infested with _dragons! _They'd attack th' village and steal th' livestock! They'd steal an' destroy everythin'! Even yer socks! But only the lef' 'ones. Wha's up with tha'?" By now the class was leaning forward in anticipation. Not because they actually believed a word Gobber said, but because it was certainly entertaining to hear.

Mr. Gobber did this every once and a while. He'd go on and on and _on _about some batshit crazy stories. Usually they involved trolls, elves, and mermaids— but dragons had to come up at some point, I suppose. "Berk was goin' down th' tubes 'cause those damn' dragons," Mr. Gobber continued. "Bu' it' wasn' 'til Stoick the Vas' came and defeated 'em, tha' this village las' as long as it did."

From there, Gobber launched into some ludicrous story about dragons and Vikings. Supposedly, Berk was in this never-ending battle with dragons. In fact, the dragons were on the verge of tearing the village to pieces. Stoick the Vast evidently found the king of all dragons—the _Bewilderbeast, _Gobber called it—and took him out. Apparently the attacks got worse, and Stoick took drastic measures to stop them.

"Stoick the Vas' consulted a witch'," Gobber was saying, sitting on his desk and gesturing wildly with his hand and marker as he told the story in dramatic detail. "She cas' a spell, ya see, an' stopped th' dragons from a'tacking once an' for all." He paused and then added, "A' th' cost o' Stoick's blood, of course."

"What do you mean by that?" I couldn't help but ask. "What kind of spell? I didn't know Vikings did human sacrifice."

There were a few sniggers around the class.

"No, no, no, 'iccup. Not' _human_ sacrifice!" Gobber waved me off and continued. "_Bloodline _sacrifice! Meaning it doesn' jus' affec' 'im… it affects any an' all o' his direc' descendan's as well!"

I just blinked at him. Someone should tell that to Drago Bludfist (unfortunate, yet fitting, last name), current president of Berk. He _was _Stoick's direct descendant, after all. He won't ever let any of us forget it, either.

"What was the spell?" Somebody else asked.

Gobber shrugged. "I don' qui' remember, but tha's no' importan' now. Thanks to Mr. 'iccup 'ere, I jus' remembered tha' I've a projec' fer ye 'to do!"

Almost instantly, I felt a spitball smack into the back of my head. The whole class was glaring daggers at me, I just knew it. I wiped the spitball off. Not a big deal.

"'Tis a pre'ty simple projec', really," Gobber said, "Jus' ta ge' us star'ed on this new uni'! I't'll be abou' 'ifty points, due nex' Monday." Gobber's face twisted in concentration for a brief moment as he counted on his fingers. "Tha's…. five days! Ye ge' five days ta work on' it. I wan' a family 'ree, from each o' you!"

Either Gobber didn't see the glares we were all shooting at him, or he chose to ignore them.

"Unles' ye've got' _exceptional_ 'andwriting, I wan' a 'yped family 'ree. No, I don' care abou' yer aun's and uncles; I'm lookin' for _direc'. _I'm curious ta see 'who ye lot are rela'ed to. As fer me? Well, I'm th' grea'-grea'-grea'-grea'-grea'…... grea' grandson of Gobber th' Belch. Ya see— we Boyd's're _real _crea'ive when it comes down' ta it. Bu' _tha' _Gobber was th' village blacksmi'h and Stoick's righ'-han'-man."

Gobber raised his eyebrows at us. Or… eyebrow. Gobber had a bushy brownish-blond unibrow. Did I mention that? "_Tha's _th' kind o' thing I wan' ye lot ta look up. 'Easy 'ifty points, if ye ask me."

Just then, the school bell tore through the air, signaling that class was over.

"Well, tha's all, class! See ye lot Friday! Don' forget' yer projec's!"

I gathered my stuff and stood up, joining the rest of the students as they scattered into the hall. Great. Another interesting project. Which only meant for another _interesting _day.

* * *

**((I'm sorry if got some things wrong… I didn't know what Gobber's last name was (if he had one) so I just made it Boyd.)) **

**That's all! This is kind of a trial chapter. I don't know if I should even bother writing any more than this. I've never written any of these characters before… And I just kind of had Gobber's voice in my head and did my best to articulate it. Gosh that was annoying… and entertaining. At the same time. Please tell me what you think! (I have a _lot_ of fics to update and don't have this prewritten. Please be patient with me. Thanks.)**

**Tootles,  
****~marko**


	2. Chapter 2

**Whoa, wow! This got a much bigger response than I was expecting! Thank you! Okay, school's started again, so I thought I'd update this real fast. Here you go! **

* * *

**How to Reshape History **

**By: marko28**

* * *

The rest of the school day went relatively normal, despite the oddness of my first period class. The only thing surprising or even remotely out of the ordinary that happened was Fishlegs. For the first time in, like… forever, he actually came and talked to me. Not in front of his friends of course, oh no. Talking to a loser like me would just be far too embarrassing for him unless he shoved my head down a toilet immediately afterwards.

"Hey Hiccup!" Fishlegs lobbed his arm onto my shoulder after our history class had ended. Well, he _tried _to do it, anyway. Being five-foot-three and weighing about a hundred-and-two pounds, Fishleg's beefy arm was about half the size of my entire body. You can imagine my posture at this point: sagged foreword and slouched down, kind of like carrying a backpack full of textbooks. But, naturally, I smiled as best as I could — which I think came out as more as a grimace — but it didn't really seem like he noticed.

"C-can you believe that class?" Fishlegs continued. Speaking of things I couldn't believe… Freddie's breath smelled exactly like his nickname.

I wriggled out of his hold. "Um… yeah, I mean, I guess. Haven't heard a story about dragons yet. That's new."

Fishlegs laughed. "Yeah, I think Gobber's finally lost it. I guarantee it was due to post-traumatic physiological damage from that war. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. I was banking on seven years, and what's it been now… ten? Twelve?"

I shot Fishlegs an odd look. "Thirteen." I stated simply. I really didn't understand why Fishlegs was even talking to me. He probably wanted me to do something for him, but I knew Fishlegs was more than capable of doing just about anything I could do himself. I don't know if you've ever seen the guy, but if anyone on this island was descended from some great Berkian Viking, it was Fishlegs.

He, like Gobber, was vaguely square-shaped in frame. He had a head of straight, straw-like blond hair that stuck out in all directions and a pair of small, wide-set eyes paired with rectangular glasses. Well, he _used _to wear glasses. He didn't anymore.

Fishlegs was roughly four times my size, all together. He was around five-foot-ten, maybe eleven, and he undoubtedly weighed about two hundred pounds. Freddie was on the hokey team (one of Berk's biggest sports) with Scot Lout, and his grades probably would've been flawless… had he not have gotten in with the popular crowd about two years ago. Now, well… he'd be lucky to make it past eleventh grade.

"What do you want, Fishlegs?" I asked warily.

Fishlegs feigned an innocent look. "Wha—me? I don't want anything, Hiccup. I just wanted to talk to an old frien—"

"Save it," I grumbled, a little too used to this routine. "You didn't bother me just to _chat, _Freddie." He looked shocked that I called him by his real name. But I knew it bothered him, even a little, so of course I was going to use it. "Nobody ever does that. You want something."

Fishlegs looked slightly guilty for a second, and I probably groaned so loudly it was comedic. "I'm not doing your project for you." I stated. "I've got three AP classes, an Honors class, _and _advanced Icelandic. And this project. I don't have time to do mine, let alone _yours_. And you don't pay me, so that's another reason why I _won't _do it."

"C'mon!" Fishlegs whined. "I've got hokey all week and the guys wanted to go to the Thorston's party and I kind of _have _to go since they're going and then I've got—"

"I'm _not _doing it, Freddie." I cut him off. Oh, the poor baby has to go to a party? Poor little Fishlegs has hokey practice? Well, I've got three A.P.s, an Honors class, and advanced Icelandic, so my sympathy for him wasn't very high.

I turned around and began to make my way down the hall to my next class, when I felt eyes burning through the back of my head. I glanced back. Great, he was still staring at me. With those big cow eyes of his. Fishlegs wasn't going to let me forget this, was he? I turned around and stated, "_Fine. _I won't do it for you, but I'll help you with it. My place. After school. Got it?"

Fishlegs jumped up from his dejected slouch and did the oddest little cheer-thing for someone of his size. "Yes! Um, I mean, y-yes. Yes, thanks Hiccup! You're still in that old house on top of that hill, right? T-the—"

"The old, dark and creepy one? Yeah. I still live there. After school, four thirty. Now… um… I gotta go. Bell's about to ring and… yeah, bye."

I quickly turned around and scurried away without looking back.

* * *

My peaceful encounter with Freddie was the oddest event to happen to me all day. But afterwards, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Advanced placement Calculus was normal. I'd already done the homework for the week, so I pretty much just spent the time drawing in my sketchpad. I was thinking… new plans for a torch? I don't know, something that lights on fire. Maybe I'd make a fire/rocket launcher of some sort?

Call it a side-job, except I don't ever get paid and nobody knows about it. Go ahead, say I'm a pyromaniac— I don't really care. You'd be right, actually.

I like fire. I like to _set _things on fire. I like to _create _fire. In fact, my first word as a baby was _fire, _because apparently I put something on a lit stove and suddenly the whole house smelled like melting plastic.

I've always wanted to be an engineer. Watching as each mechanism interacted with one another in something as simple as a door handle has always been fascinating to me. I used to help Gobber out in the city's forge, back before he got his teaching job. Now, my house is riddled with things I've made and collected over time.

I'm sure I've driven my mom insane more than once, but I don't think she minds my tinkering and metalworking that much. She always seems pretty pleased when I make something new, and even more so when it's useful.

Yeah, I'm thinking a torch. But not a torch, because that's, well, lame. Something useful, maybe. Maybe I'll sell it, make myself a few bucks and finally get that new laptop I've been wanting.

I pondered this for the rest of Calculus, before class was dismissed and I moved onto Honors Biology. Which, by the way, wasn't nearly as entertaining as my previous classes, because this is one of the only classes I had with Scot Lout. Who, by the way, was sending spitballs my direction the _entire _time, along with a few paper airplanes with the words: "loser!", "pussy!" or something else offensive on them (they were usually spelled wrong. In that case, I'd correct the mistake and send the airplane back his way. I don't think he appreciated it). Oh, along with the occasional poorly drawn dick. Can't forget that.

When the class finally ended with the teacher saying something about a "nature walk field trip", I was actually a little disappointed. I was starting to have a bit of fun annoying Snotlout. It was like a game. He'd insult me, I'd piss him off (because how _dare _a loser like me send his insults right back to him), he'd get all red and flare out that pig nose of his, and he'd send back another insult.

Moving on, lunch went on without a hitch.

I sat at my lunch table by myself. It was in a perfect position, really. I'd spent over an hour the first day of school in ninth grade plotting out the _perfect _table. It was just far enough away from the popular group's table for them to ignore me… but not far enough away so that I couldn't hear what they were saying (okay, so what if I eavesdrop when I'm bored). It was close enough to the soda machine for easy-access drinks, but not close enough for me to get splashed with the stuff or annoyed by the steady _burrrrr_ of the appliance.

Oh, and my choice of table also allowed me one more thing. A great view of _her. _She was laughing with the other popular kids right now. They were talking about a big party of some sort. Oh, wait, now she just punched Scot. That douche tried to put his arm around her, probably. What an idiot. Nobody ever tries to do that to Astrid Hofferson, not if they want to live to see their next birthday.

Yeah, that's Astrid Hofferson. She's the star offensive player on the soccer team and probably _the _hottest girl at Berk High. Long, choppy, braided golden hair, big bright blue eyes, tall, athletic, smart, outspoken, she was just the whole package. But that's coming from me, along with every other guy at school.

Astrid doesn't even know I exist. I know that, and it's almost better that she doesn't. If she doesn't notice me, then she won't call me out for staring at her.

It's not like there was much to notice anyway. Reddish-brown hair, chlorophyll-y-vomit-y-colored eyes (and coming from a Bio student, that's not a great color), and probably more freckles on my face, shoulders and arms then there are people on the planet. _Of course _Astrid Hofferson wasn't going to notice me, not unless I grew a foot taller and doubled in size, maybe.

But again, it's not like I cared— it gave me more leeway to do what I was doing right now: staring at her wistfully like I do every day at this boring school on this relatively boring island.

Then lunch ended, and my last class, Foreign Language, went normally. This was the class I shared with most of the popular crowd, but that's actually a good thing, in a way. They're always too absorbed in themselves to pay any attention to me, whereas just one of them would use me as a source of entertainment… like in my Biology class. Astrid Hofferson, Ruby and Tony Thorston, and Fishlegs all sat in a group on the opposite side of the classroom from where I was seated.

Ruby and Tony, or Ruff and Tuff (if you've seen them interact with each other, you'd understand the nicknames) were bickering and pulling each other's hair. Nothing unusual— I've never had a sibling before (let alone a _twin_), so I wouldn't know if their constant arguing and fighting was normal or not. At this point, it was normal for _them, _and I guess that's all that matters.

By the way, when I said they were twins, I really mean they were _twins. _They were pretty much identical. The only thing really separating them when it came to appearances was their sexes. They were both tall. Tuff was significantly taller than Ruff, making him about 6'0 and her about 5'6".

Other than that, they were identical by every other meaning of the word. They wore twin gray beanies atop long indistinguishable piles of pale blond hair. They both had long legs and arms, long, oval-shaped faces, and they both shared a slight slouch that either came naturally or from laziness. I always assumed the latter.

They were both basketball players, I believe, and their family had a lot of money. Along with being as entertaining as they were, it was really no wonder that they were a part of the official Berk High A-List.

The bell rang just as a severe-looking teacher entered the classroom. She had a scowl on her face, like being in the presence of such _imbeciles _on a daily basis was physically _painful _for her. She was always like that, though. I was beginning to think she was born that way: scowling and glaring as if she hated the world. Her taught face and hunched over form made her 5'0 frame seem gigantic, somehow, looming over us like that Snape character from that book series that came out a long time ago.

"Good afternoon," she mumbled in that hoarse voice of hers. I gulped. Ms. Thorn always scared me. She was one of the only teachers that didn't seem to like me… at all. She always glared at me whenever I answered a question and would never fail to point out any mistakes I made, weather in pronunciation, spelling, or otherwise.

Never mind the fact that I had an A in her class, of course.

I was also infinitely grateful that I sat as far away from the popular crowd as possible. If there was someone in the class that Ms. Thorn actually _liked, _it was them. And if they were talking, she'd need to pin the blame on it for _someone. _And usually that someone sat in the immediate surrounding desks. So, thankfully not me.

"Get out your books, turn to page 102 and begin working on the activities shown. If I don't see you working, you will be staying here after school with me. Go."

With that, we set about working. Well, most of us, anyway. Except for that far corner just opposite of me, where the four blond teens were either texting or goofing off. Did Ms. Thorn care?

No, she didn't seem to notice. Naturally.

I rolled my eyes and set about working on my Icelandic homework for the remainder of class. Here on Berk, English was the primary language. Icelandic (a semi-variant of Norse), German, and French were the only languages offered at school, although we used none of them on the actual island and hardly anyone ever came or left Berk. I chose to take advanced Icelandic as my foreign language credit, thinking it would be interesting and look good on a college application. Then I got stuck with Thorn and the populars, and I came to regret that decision.

But at least the steady and monotonic working to the beat of some nameless alternative rock song blasting tunelessly through my headphones allowed the pointless class to pass quickly. Before I knew it, the bell had rung and the day was over.

* * *

I don't think I've ever experienced a longer two and a half hours.

I was sitting on the couch of my house, waiting listlessly for Fishlegs to arrive. I don't even know why I was helping him. I guess it was out of respect for the friendship we _used _to have. Or maybe it was because I didn't want the popular crowd bothering me for the rest of the week.

I tapped my fingers repetitively on the arm of the couch I was sitting on, staring absently at the high, lofted and creaking ceiling. This house was old. It was one of the only buildings on Berk that wasn't new. Mom said something about it being one of the first buildings ever built on Berk. It made me wonder how she'd come about attaining it, if it was really that historic. I never asked.

The house was huge and empty. It was far too big for just the two of us: my mom and me. And most of the time, it was just me, alone. This place was like one of those old, creaky haunted houses you see on television shows or in movies. That's certainly the reputation this place gets from nearly everyone I know… and even people I don't.

It was funny, actually, seeing the generally freaked out expressions of people when they figure out that little ol' Hiccup Haddock lives in that big scary old Norse house on the very top of Shepard Hill.

Where _was _he? I glanced at the screen of my phone. It was nearly 4:45. Fishlegs was already fifteen minutes late. I knew he was never very good at being timely, but if he kept me waiting any longer, I'd just lock the door, make dinner, and wait for mom to get home. Screw him.

But right then, a loud _riiinnggg _resounded throughout the empty house, echoing off the walls and piercing my eardrums like an out of tune church organ.

_It's about friggin' time, _the thought was peeved. I was half hoping Fishlegs wouldn't show up at all and I could just spend the rest of the night in solitude and wait for mom to get home.

But regardless, Fishlegs was here, and I told him I'd help him on this stupid project.

"It's open!" I shouted. My voice echoed off the walls and bounced throughout the old house and lofted ceilings before finally making it though the arched wooden doorways.

Immediately, the door opened with a loud resounding _creaaaaaak _as Fishlegs lumbered through the dark wood threshold.

"Hi, Freddie," I greeted meekly, raising a bony hand to wave at him.

"Hi, Hiccup," Fishlegs responded. He smiled weakly, "thanks for helping me."

"…Yeah, yeah." I said hesitantly. I don't know why he was thanking me. None of them have ever thanked me before. Why start now? Did Fishlegs poison my food and was now starting to feel bad about it? Nowadays, I wouldn't put it past him.

"So…." I started awkwardly.

Fishlegs looked around the empty house before raising a questioning eyebrow at me. "Does your mom still work at that animal hospital?"

"Um… yeah. She's still out," I muttered. I didn't really want to talk about it. Mom's job was yet another thing I got made fun of for at school. I didn't quite know why - she just worked the afternoon shift at the local animal shelter. I know it wasn't a real razzle-dazzle job, but I guess since she didn't work right alongside Bludfist like Snoutlout's parents, that automatically meant we were both at the bottom of the Berkian food chain. "She shouldn't be home for another… two or three hours."

Fishlegs nodded. "Okay." He sat in the armchair adjacent to the couch. "So what do we do?"

"Um…" was my only response. It was times like these when I really wished that Gobber would give us some kind of handout or something. More than just a short in-class description of what to do, anyway. I then picked up the old, bulky laptop from the coffee table in front of the couch and opened it. My fingers tumbled over the keyboard like amateur ballet dancers as I typed in the passcode.

"I dunno. Google?" I let sarcasm drip from the words as I pulled up the search engine and turned the laptop to face him.

Fishlegs nodded, "I… I guess that's a place to start."

I sighed. These next few hours were going to be weird if Fishlegs kept acting like he killed my dog and didn't know how to tell me. Acting this…. guilty wasn't like him. It made me wonder just what was going on inside that thick skull of his.

I typed in the first demand.

* * *

**Hello again! Sorry if part of that was rushed, I just really wanted to get through the school day as fast as I could while still introducing other characters. Side note "Hiccup" is Hiccup's real name in the story. It's not Henry or anything. I'll explain that later, hopefully. And Hiccup calls the other teens by both their "real" names and their "nicknames" sporadically. I'm trying to imitate what I would do in the same situation.  
Okay, I think that's all! (Oh and did you notice the writing style change? The things seven hours of school will do to you!) Uh, please drop a review on your way out! I'll answer any questions you have unless they'll be reviled later in the story. If that's the case, you'll just have to wait in anticipation. **

**Peace out **  
**~marko**

******P.S. I'll probably reread this and the first chapter back-to-back later and edit what I need to edit, but I really wanted to get this up. I just hope it was remotely satisfactory. **


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